


this cookie's baking

by disgruntledkittenface



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: (long overdue) healthy communication, 2018 gryles, Bisexual Harry, Canon Compliant, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Genderswap, Girl Direction, Girls Kissing, POV switch, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, cis girl harry, cis girl nick, except harry has long hair, gratuitous when harry met sally references, idiot best friends in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: Harry’s eyes flicker between Nick’s eyes and lips. “I just want to be your–”“Baby,” Nick says softly, cupping Harry’s jaw, “you already are.”Nick and Harry have a long-overdue conversation.





	this cookie's baking

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiii so, okay, this is my gryles fic and my first girl direction and I don’t know how thirsty an audience there is for this but I have loved writing it. I was listening to Woman one day, thinking I’d like to do something with a jealous Harry, and then Wild Thoughts came on and this story started taking shape. And now it’s super close to my heart. Here’s a [ link](http://magog83.tumblr.com/post/169517867455/nick-suffers-an-embarrassing-medical-drama-on-his#permalink-notes) to the clip from the Breakfast Show referenced in the story if you want to listen.
> 
> This fic wouldn’t exist without the support of some lovely people: my dear friend [ Bookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofquiet17/pseuds/queenofquiet17), who’s not in these fandoms but always encourages me and reads every draft I send her; [ Kim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimmieRocks/pseuds/crinkle-eyed-boo), who always steps out of her comfort zones for me and opened her heart to girl direction; and [ Writcraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft), whose excitement and feedback helped me so much in this process. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Nick’s meant to be out on a run. 

She’d solemnly promised Georgie she would go running by herself today. And she’d meant it even. But then she’d made the fatal error of sitting down to tie her shoelaces. Pig had jumped up and covered at least half of Nick’s body with her particular form of aggressive cuddling and then Stinky had commandeered the other side of her on the sofa and now here they all are twenty minutes later, taking selfies for Instagram. Nick adjusts her headband and is about to press record for a video when the bell rings.

“Oh, no,” she sighs exaggeratedly as the dogs leap off the sofa. “I’m meant to be out for a run, but someone is here. Doggies, this is _ terrible.” _

The dogs ignore her as they run to the front door and she wonders why she even bothered putting on a show for them as the bell rings again. And then again, continuously, as though someone is leaning on it. 

Ah, so it’s Harry then.

The dogs seem to have figured it out as well, in ecstatic full-body waggles by the door. Despite their excitement, there’s a distinct lack of barking. Nick’s always amazed at how well Harry’s charms work on them, considering she’s a cat person. If they only knew.

Nick hastens to grab the door as the fever pitch of the bell starts to feel like it could quite literally pierce her ear drum. 

“Harold!” she exclaims as she pulls it open with a flourish. “Hiya. Been waiting long? Couldn’t hear you at the door.” 

Harry ducks in, carrier bag in each hand, pigeon-toed and shoulders curved in like she’s trying to take up less space. Nick hates when she does that, hates that Harry ever might feel like she needs to be smaller, lesser. It brings out all of Nick’s considerable protective instincts. 

“Much as I love your trick with the bell,” she says, shutting the door and turning back to Harry, “where’s your key?”

“Hands were full,” Harry says quietly with a shrug. “Brought dinner and some of that rosé, wasn’t sure you had any in.”

“Thanks, love,” Nick says, matching Harry’s volume at almost a murmur. “’S good to see you. Come on, get in here.”

She opens her arms and Harry sets her bags down with a tentative smile before wrapping her stupidly long arms around Nick. They’re exactly the same height with Harry in her boots, but Nick feels her hunch a bit so it’s like Nick is holding her. She pats at Harry’s back a little, itching to soothe whatever’s responsible for her apparent mood, but holding back just enough to keep it on the friendly side.

She has plenty of practice at that, after all. 

Nick pulls back first, after she can feel that some of the tension has left Harry’s body. She plasters a grin to her face, ready to move onto the piss-taking phase of lifting Harry’s spirits.

Harry’s providing plenty of material, having arrived in Nick’s favorite of her truly ridiculous hats: the black one with a bit of a braid at the front, fisherman style. Nick feels her grin stretch wickedly.

“Ahoy, matey, what have you got there?” she asks, following Harry as she picks up her bags and walks into the front room.

Harry sets the bags down on the coffee table and turns, shrugging her pea coat off and letting it fall to the arm of the sofa.

“’M not a pirate, Grim,” she mumbles. “If you’re going to take the piss, at least get it right.”

Nick is downright delighted to see that Harry’s chosen to pair her fisherman hat with a tan jumper that would look quite at home on the docks if it weren’t for the crop in front. Her eyes flicker from Harry’s face to her jumper and back as she tries to decide what to say next.

“Got us a curry,” Harry says mildly, interrupting Nick’s deliberation. She gestures to the table with one hand and scratches at the thin white t-shirt that extends from below her jumper to cover her belly with the other. 

“Curry!” Nick remarks, leaning against the door frame. “Bit outrageous for a Tuesday, innit? That popstar lifestyle.”

“Were you…” Harry starts, looking unsure, “were you on your way out?”

Nick looks down at her jumper and running tights. Her shoelaces are still untied.

“Oh yes,” she nods seriously. “I’m meant to be running, promised Georgie, but since you’re here and everything. With a curry. On a Tuesday! I can skive off just this once.”

That earns her a genuine smile from Harry, the first real one of the night, and Nick swears she can feel her heart expand in her chest. 

“Oh, no, no,” Harry says mock seriously, reaching for her coat. “I know how committed you are, we could do takeaway another night–”

“Don’t you dare,” Nick cuts her off. “Just let me change these trainers for slippers, can you grab the wine glasses? And forks?” 

Without waiting for an answer, Nick turns and heads for her bedroom before the goofy smile that’s threatening to take over her face betrays her. Once inside her room, she sits on the edge of the bed, kicking off her shoes and reaching for her prized Gucci slippers. She’d had a proper strop lately when Alexa tried to borrow them without asking during a night in and, instead of teasing her mercilessly as Nick expected, everyone went quiet when Aimee reminded them the slippers were a birthday gift from Harry. 

Like that’d had anything to do with it.

Nick preens at herself a bit, the slippers really are major, before her mind drifts back to Harry and what could be on her mind. They’d texted quite a lot since Nick lefts on hols and everything seemed as usual, but something feels a little off tonight. Frowning, she gets up and makes her way back to the front room.

Harry’s sitting on the sofa, her hat discarded, working her long curls into a high bun and Nick stops in her tracks. Harry is always gorgeous, it’s unfair really, but with her hair up Nick can see the sharp line of her jaw, her long neck, her stupidly small ears. What business have ears got being that cute? 

After standing in the doorway just long enough for it to be awkward, Nick coughs a little and makes for her side of the sofa. How sickeningly domestic it all is, she thinks. She has her end of the sofa, the dogs are cuddling on the other end, and in the middle is Harry.

If only it was all… real. 

She tries to push the thought out of her mind as she sits, keeping a little space between her and Harry. She can tell her voice is off-kilter, a touch too loud as she asks, “What’d you get us then? Please tell me not that potato pancake thingum again.”

From the look on Harry’s face, she can tell Nick’s off-kilter as well. She doesn’t call her on it, though, just hands Nick a plate, shaking her head. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“It was disgusting, Harold,” Nick whines. “And  _ double carbs.” _

“’S fine, I got your standard order,” Harry replies, her voice quiet and a bit slower than usual if that’s even possible. She pinches her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger before continuing, “But you’re stupid for worrying about it. You’re perfect really, just the way you are.”

Nick’s heart just about skips a beat at how close Harry has come to quoting a rom com. At her. Directed to her. 

As the adverts for Harry’s own film had made clear: Hope is a weapon.

“Right,” Nick says, concentrating on keeping the panic out of her voice. She takes a small sip of wine and puts her glass on the side table. “You want to watch something? Been ages since I’ve seen  _ Bridesmaids, _ up for it?”

And Nick is honestly a bit offended at the groan that Harry lets out, relieved to have an excuse to back away from the feelings cliff she’s been hanging on.

“I haven’t watched since last year, I’ll have you know,” she sniffs. 

“We’re only a week into new year,” Harry mutters. “You still haven’t taken down your tree.”

Ruffled, Nick reaches for the remote. “Well then, should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?”

Ignoring Harry’s drawn-out “Heyyyyyyyyyy,” Nick quickly pulls up Netflix and puts on the first rom com that she can find.

“Classic,” Harry sighs contentedly. “I love  _ When Harry Met Sally.” _

“I love that you won’t watch my favorite film with me,” Nick says, rolling her eyes, “but you’re more than happy to cheat on  _ The Notebook. _ Fickle, Harry, really.”

Harry looks the tiniest bit stung at that and Nick is flooded with guilt, rushing to pat her head and wishing she could tousle Harry’s curls. What is the matter with her anyway, she always overcorrects when her feelings for Harry rise too close to the surface.

“Go on then,” Nick nods to their plates, “tea’s on table.” 

They sit back and start to eat as the opening music plays. And honestly, Nick should be desensitized by now to Harry’s quirk of sticking her tongue out before taking a bite of food, but she’s really, really not. She tries to focus on her own food, but Harry’s just so... distracting. 

The film draws Nick’s attention as Sally explains on screen how she has the drive from Chicago to New York all planned out and Nick grins, poking Harry’s shoulder and mouthing, “you,” before turning back to her meal. They eat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Nick notices Harry eyeing her plate. She leans a bit away from Harry, holding it a bit closer to her chest. 

_ “... Women are very practical. Even Ingrid Bergman, which is why she gets on the plane at the end of the movie.” _

Harry stays quiet and bristles only half-heartedly at that to Nick’s surprise, as she’s heard Harry’s thoughts on the end of  _ Casablanca _ more times than she can count. Although whatever’s bothering Harry doesn’t stop her from finally reaching over to pick bits off of Nick’s plate.

“Oi,” Nick says, pushing Harry’s hand away. “Leave it.”

Harry manages to steal another bit of naan with her other hand, and sits back. Nick expects to see her smiling, proud of herself, but instead Harry looks contemplative, mind clearly somewhere other than her stolen food or the film.  

She doesn’t react at all to Nick’s favorite bit about the days of the week underwear, and Nick swears that only someone who’s genuinely upset doesn’t laugh at the notion that they don’t make Sundays “because of God.”

From that point on, Nick finds that she’s watching her Harry more than the one on screen. She takes in the dark smudges under Harry’s eyes, how her wrists look a bit thin where she’s pushed her sleeves back. She sets her plate on the table and nestles back into the sofa, turned a bit to Harry on her left and tucking her feet under Harry’s thigh to warm them. 

“What?” she laughs when Harry looks to her. “Your thigh works better than Gucci’s slipper technology, not my fault.”

Harry shakes her head and turns back to the film. She’s always running warm and apparently decides to flaunt it just then, taking off her jumper as if Nick can handle watching a romantic comedy about best friends falling in love while Harry sits there mildly in a see-through white t-shirt. It takes Nick a split-second too long to avert her gaze and now she just has to sit there, able to do nothing with the knowledge that Harry isn’t wearing a bra.  

Nick keeps stealing glances, keeping her eyes determinedly on Harry’s face, noting her bordering on forlorn expression. 

_ “You made a woman meow?” _

Harry doesn’t even crack a smile and Nick decides that’s enough.

“Alright,” she declares as Harry looks up, startled. 

“What?” Harry asks, brow furrowed.

“Out with it,” Nick says. “What’s wrong?”

Harry hesitates and Nick wonders if she’s seriously not going to talk to her. They talk about everything. Well, practically everything. Nick suddenly finds herself praying Harry isn’t having boy trouble. Or girl trouble. No romantic trouble of any kind.

Nick doesn’t break eye contact, determined not to let Harry off the hook, but Harry sits silently, jutting her chin. Stubborn as ever. Just then the sounds of Sally’s fake orgasm in the deli on screen get louder and, instead of it breaking the tension, Harry looks pained, dropping her eyes to her lap where she’s picking at her chipped black nail polish.

Nick reaches for the remote and turns the volume down.

“Harry, darling,” she says quietly, reaching slowly to touch her shoulder. “Seriously, what is it?”

She waits as Harry sits, frowning. Nick is used to the rhythms of conversations with Harry, it can take her a bit to work up the momentum to say what she wants to. She can wait as long as she has to, sure now that there’s something on Harry’s mind.

When Harry looks up, Nick wants to laugh a little. She needs to know what’s going on with her best friend but Harry looks uncannily like a disgruntled kitten.

“I listened to the show today.”

“Oh,” Nick nods. Wait. What? “Oh?”

Harry just raises a brow expectantly at her and Nick searches her face for some kind of clue, but for once Harry’s heart isn’t on her sleeve, or her face. Nick racks her brain for some kind of explanation from the show that morning for Harry’s mood, but she comes up blank, completely blank.

“You’ll have to help me out here, love,” she says finally. “I’m lost.”

Harry crosses her arms, put out and pouting, and Nick would find it adorable if only she had the faintest idea what was going on. 

Harry huffs a sigh. “I listened to the show today, and I heard you talking about getting sick on hols.”

Nick groans and hides her face in her hands, blushing a bit at the memory. 

“God, that was so embarrassing,” she moans, pulling her headband off and messing up her floppy hair a bit with both hands. She looks up at Harry, who’s glowering back at her. “What? You knew about that anyway, texted you the whole time we were away, why would talking about it on the show have you in a grump?”

Harry knits her eyebrows, not meeting Nick’s eye. Christ, Nick thinks, enough is enough. She reaches over and tilts Harry’s chin up a bit with her hand.

“Tell me what’s wrong, love,” she says, looking into Harry’s green eyes. She could get lost in them so easily if not for the hints of tears Harry’s holding back. “Clearly I’m an idiot because I don’t understand.”

“You are an idiot,” Harry replies without any bite to it. She uncrosses her arms and takes Nick’s hand from her chin to hold with both of hers, like she thinks Nick will drift away if she doesn’t anchor her. “When you were texting me about feeling poorly and needing attention and sympathy and saying you’d had to go to the resort doctor even, you never mentioned that doctor was gorgeous.”

Nick laughs a little, surprised. “Apologies, Harold. Should I have taken a sneaky pic for you or summat? Didn’t think that was the kind of thing you’d approve of.”

“Bit weird to leave out, don’t you think?” Harry persists, her shoulders squared and a look of resolve on her face.

“Um,” Nick shrugs. “Dunno, why?”

“You tell me everything, Nick,” Harry says, squeezing her hand. “You’re my best friend. But you never tell me things like your doctor was gorgeous, or the whole time you were thinking you two should be getting married, not talking about your stomach bug. Why is that? Why do you think that is?” 

Nick’s heart rate picks up a bit at that. There it is, finally. The Thing They Don’t Talk About, just out there in the open. How was Nick to have guessed that  _ she _ would be the girl trouble Harry was having? Christ, she really should have gone for that run after all. 

“Harry,” she starts carefully, not quite able to meet her steady gaze.

“No, Nick,” Harry interrupts. “We’re not doing this anymore. We’re not going to keep dancing around it and go back to the film and act as though it never came up like we always do.”

“What do you want from me?” Nick pleads, looking down to Harry’s hands tangled up with her own. 

“I want it to be me,” Harry bursts. Nick’s head snaps up and she looks at Harry as she continues, “Not some random doctor or Rihanna or David Beckham if he’s done a particularly good photoshoot that day. Me, I want you to talk about  _ me _ on the show, about how you want  _ me, _ to marry  _ me.”  _

She tightens her grip on Nick’s hand as she speaks, as if she can read the panic in Nick’s mind, as if she knows she wants to jump up and run away.

“Harry,” Nick whispers, completely shocked but not surprised.

“You’re the one for me,” Harry says softly, taking one of her hands off of Nick’s to run her fingers lightly through Nick’s hair. “You always have been, I’ve wanted you since I was 17. You know that, everyone we know knows that. But you’ve always held a piece of yourself back from me, you never let me all the way in. And I thought I’d be patient, right? Was always just the wrong time, too much attention, too many dicks sending you hate online just for being photographed with me–”

Nick shakes her head and opens her mouth to protest, that’s not Harry’s fault, never has been, but before she can speak, Harry continues, “I told myself being friends was enough, at least I got some of you. But it’s never been enough, Nick.”

Nick lets out a shuddering breath, wondering for a split-second if she’ll need her inhaler and where she left it. 

“And here I thought you were just trying to make curry Tuesdays happen,” she tries to quip, knowing it’s weak effort.  

Harry ignores her, almost certainly expecting the attempt at deflection, and waits patiently, stroking a thumb over Nick’s hand.

“I didn’t–” Nick starts, choking on the words. “I never wanted to hold you back.”

Harry wipes away a couple of tears that have fallen on Nick’s cheek, but she still doesn’t say anything, just waits for Nick to continue. Nick takes another deep breath. Since Harry’s not backing down, she may as well lay all her badly hidden cards on the table.

“You were so young when we met, Harry,” she says in a rush, drawing on her oft-recited mental list of reasons they would never have worked. “So young, and so curious, you hadn’t  _ done _ anything yet, and you were dying to explore and experience everything. And I felt like you had to do that on your own, I already had my time to be so young that it’s okay to be stupid and not have anything figured out yet. I wasn’t about to ruin that for you by keeping you all to myself, no matter how much I wanted to. It wouldn’t have been fair to you, I never wanted to tie you down–”

“I want you to tie me down!” Harry interrupts. “I always have!” 

Nick gapes at Harry, her mind going to places she usually doesn’t allow it to. Harry blushes and, as the pink tinge spreads from her cheeks down to her chest, Nick’s mind starts to race, wondering if it’s possible that Harry’s thinking the same things she is. Wondering if it’s really possible that everything she’s ever wanted is right in front of her, asking to be taken. 

“I didn’t think…” Nick shakes her head to clear it, trying to get the words out. “I mean, I’m not a complete idiot, I know why we’ve never talked about things like marrying doctors–”

Harry looks a bit mutinous at that and Nick allows herself to revel in the ridiculousness of this gorgeous girl for a moment before continuing, “I didn’t think you knew what you wanted back then. I’m sorry, I know that’s shit, but Harry, you’re… you,” Nick gestures helplessly to Harry, “and I’m just me. And then the more time passed… there’s just never been a way I could be worth all you’d have to give up for me.”

“You’re an  _ idiot,” _ Harry says, fondness mixing in with exasperation. “You don’t… you don’t see yourself properly, Nick, you’re always slagging yourself off first before anyone else has a chance to, and it’s like you believe your own jokes about being old or incapable of commitment or whatever other nonsense you’re always on about. God, sometimes I want to just shake you, make you see yourself through my eyes, make you see what you’re worth to me.” 

Harry casts her eyes about the room, as if there was someone there who could help her convince Nick. It must only be a few seconds before she speaks again but to Nick it feels like an eternity. 

“You’re everything,” Harry says simply. “You’re everything to me.”

Nick feels something deep within her chest settle at that, something she hadn’t realized was missing slot into place.

“Well,” she murmurs, “seems I’ve been a bit stupid.” 

Nick gazes at Harry’s face, letting herself drink in Harry’s features as much as she wants for once. Perfect eyebrows atop clear, gold-flecked green eyes. Stupidly regal nose. Slightly thin, but somehow still lush, rosy pink lips. Nick lifts a finger to press where Harry’s dimple pops when she grins. 

“I know I’ve been telling myself and everyone else about my commitment issues for years, but the truth is–” Nick takes a shuddering breath, readying herself to put her whole heart into Harry’s hands, “the truth is, Harry, that ever since we met, you’ve been it for me.”

Warmth blooms across Harry’s face as she shifts a bit closer to her, lifting Nick’s legs to lie across hers and wrapping one arm around Nick’s waist. She whispers, “Babe, you’re shaking,” and Nick looks down and realizes she’s right. 

“It’s just me,” Harry murmurs, using her other hand to toy with Nick’s hair again. “What are you scared of?”

Nick laughs at that, albeit a bit shakily. “Christ, Harry, you terrify me. This,” she waves an unsteady hand around,  _ “terrifies _ me. What if–”

“Nick,” Harry says reprovingly.

“No, Harry,” Nick insists. “The only thing worse than never having you like that, all of you, would be having you and then fucking it all up. What if…” she tries to put all her fears into words and gives up. “Just... what if?”

Harry shushes her, actually shushes her, and Christ but Nick loves this girl.

“First of all, since when do we live by what ifs,” Harry says firmly. “Secondly, we’ve already been through more than most proper couples have if you think about it. Our lives have changed so much since we met, we’ve both grown a lot, and we’ve done that together. Everything with the band and now with the new album, and you with a million ideas and projects and Breakfast… Nick, you only told four people in the world when you got your dream job and one of them was me, don’t you ever think about that? I know I do.” 

Harry usually speaks at the pace of honey dripping off a spoon (Nick spent years been honing that metaphor), but she’s making her case passionately now and picking up speed.

“And you have to know how hard it is to find someone who understands, right? Someone who doesn’t make you feel like a burden when they have to keep track of which timezone you’re in? Someone who’s ambitious and likes to stay busy too but makes staying in touch feel easy? Dunno what you think I’d have to give up for you anyway, you only make my life,  _ me, _ better. We’re already partners, love, we already made it. We spend holidays with our families, you text my mum more than I do.”

Harry pauses, her voice softening as she continues, “And with Pete and with Robin, and midnight phone calls when we can’t sleep because the room is closing in on us – I couldn’t fucking get through any of it without you. Nick, we’re together, we basically have been the whole time, don’t you think it’s time we do it properly?” 

Nick plays with a curl at the base of Harry’s neck as she lets the words settle over her. “You have a point there, Henry Stars,” she muses.

Harry smiles sadly, eyes full of understanding, and pulls Nick into a hug, trapping her arms between them and just holding her. She runs a hand up and down Nick’s back, steadying her. Nick manages to scrub a hand over her face and pulls back, laughing a little.

“Christ, Harry,” she says. “Are we actually doing this?”

“Yes,” Harry says firmly. “Yes, we are actually doing this, I don’t care how terrifying I am. I’ve waited long enough for you to catch up.”

Nick laughs again, a few happy tears spilling over. Fuck, she’s never been so relieved at the outcome of a conversation in her life. “We’re shit at communicating, aren’t we? And I talk for a living. And you, you’re a bloody songwriter.” 

“’S easier to, like…” Harry starts, arms still wrapped around Nick, using one hand to cup her shoulder and the other to caress her side, “talk to an instrument sometimes?”

“You’ve done pretty well talking to me tonight, though,” Nick acknowledges, marveling a bit at Harry’s bravery. If it’d been up to Nick, they probably wouldn’t have had this talk until they were old and gray. If ever.

“I was just…” Harry starts, furrowing her brow in concentration like she’s looking for the exact right words, “I’m just so tired, Nick. I’m tired of not being with you, I’m tired of not talking about how we really feel. I’ve been telling the guitar all the, like, jumbled up feelings for you for awhile, I guess it was kind of like practicing for the real thing.”

Nick groans, covering her face with her hands, feeling her face heat up. “Don’t talk about your guitar, please, love. I can’t believe the first time I saw you play one properly I was in public. With my mother.”

“Oh?” Harry asks with a crooked grin. “Why, what’s wrong with that?”

Nick gives her a glare. “You know very well, Harold, what’s wrong with that. I was completely unprepared for how fit you’d look, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, strumming a fucking guitar. Christ, I didn’t even know forearms were a thing for me.”

A peal of laughter escapes Harry as she untangles from Nick to stretch her arms out in front of her. “What, these old things?” she asks innocently.

Nick dives in to tickle her sides and Harry shrieks with laughter. The dogs raise their heads, looking irritated at the disturbance. Nick had quite forgotten they were there, they’re always so quiet and content to just snuggle at Harry’s side, and now Nick has ruined their nap. In tandem they get up, jump down and walk to the large dog bed across the room. Good to see they’re getting on nowadays. 

A sudden playful pinch to her side draws her attention back to Harry who’s smirking up at her. They’re half lying on the sofa, arms awkwardly around each other, and it’s not the least bit comfortable, but Nick still gets lost for a moment in Harry’s sparkling eyes.

“You’re one to talk, you know,” Harry remarks. “You drive me mental all the time, you just had to deal with my forearms once.”

Nick rolls her eyes as she sits up, pulling Harry with her and arranging Harry’s legs over hers this time. Judging by the way Harry relaxes into her, she’s perfectly content that Nick prefers to be the holder instead of the held. Nick allows herself a moment to nuzzle Harry’s neck, amazed at how soft and smooth Harry’s skin is, and breathe in the cocoa and vanilla top notes of her cologne.

She scoffs as she finally processes the last thing Harry said, unsure of what she could have done on the level of Harry’s guitar playing.

“It’s true!” Harry exclaims. “I only have seven years’ worth of examples.”

“Give me one, then,” Nick replies, running a hand over Harry’s thigh where she knows her skinnies are hiding a couple of tattoos. She can’t quite believe she’s letting herself, that she’s allowed to touch.

“Mallorca,” Harry says instantly. “Mallorca was torture, fuck.”

“How so? Mallorca is lovely, we were there with all our friends, Pixie and George got married–”

“Exactly,” Harry says triumphantly. 

“Exactly what? None of that sounds like torture to me,” Nick says nonchalantly, although she thinks she has a pretty good idea of what Harry means. She’d been there too after all.

“It was torture because we were at a wedding,” Harry says impatiently. “It was proper romantic and you were right there, so close, it was like playing pretend. Everything I wanted right there, but just out of reach. And you wouldn’t stop playing that song.”

Yes, Nick knows exactly what Harry means. She hums in understanding, focusing on the feel of Harry’s thigh under her hand, wishing she could stroke bare skin instead of denim.

“It was like you were doing it on purpose, reminding me how all my thoughts get wild around you–”

At that, Nick finally allows herself a kiss, although just to Harry’s temple. “It was more like… I was torturing myself, really, not you. I had no idea you even noticed ’til you went and recorded it in front of me with no warning whatsoever. Jesus, forget your guitar, that day with you singing in Live Lounge was hot as fuck.”

And it’s like she’s flipped some kind of switch; the intensity in Harry’s eyes changes as they darken. Nick watches as Harry darts her tongue out to lick at her lips and it’s the most sexually charged moment she’s ever lived through. If she survives, that is.

Nick knows Harry would appreciate the pun as she thinks how wild Harry suddenly looks. 

Harry’s eyes flicker between Nick’s eyes and lips. “I just want to be your–”

“Baby,” Nick says softly, cupping Harry’s jaw, “you already are.”

Harry melts a bit at that and Nick can hardly believe how happy she looks, sure that the same expression is mirrored on her own face.

“I’m sorry, love,” Nick murmurs, “I’m so sorry it took us, or me rather, so long to get here, as we’ve established, I’m an idiot, but if you’ll have me, Harry, I’m yours, please, I want to be–”  

Harry interrupts her begging by surging up to kiss her, taking Nick’s face in her hands. 

Nick would have assumed after years of best friendship, and the type of observation that only accompanies pining after someone, that there were few things that she didn’t know about Harry at this point. And she would have been wrong because here is one thing she might have guessed but definitely did not know about Harry Styles:

Harry kisses with  _ intent. _

It’s lush right from the start, open-mouthed and hot, wet. Nick can’t recall a time when she was kissed so thoroughly; Harry’s hands now roaming over her body, mouth demanding and hungry, as she starts thrusting her tongue against Nick’s insistently. Nick’s heart beats wildly as she tries to keep up, desperate to return Harry’s fervor.

Harry pulls back, seemingly to catch her breath, placing her hands on Nick’s shoulders. Her lips are already a darker pink and puffy from kissing, her eyes still wild but laser-focused on Nick, and Nick is overwhelmed, trying to take it all in. She never thought she’d get to see Harry this way, in this state. 

Her eyes travel up to Harry’s bun, a little loose now, and Nick has a sudden urge to run her fingers through Harry’s curls. Leaning in to kiss Harry softly, she lifts her hands to gently let her hair down. She cups the back of Harry’s neck with one hand and helps shake out Harry’s hair with the other, tugging just a bit, just to see.

A low moan escapes Harry’s parted lips as her eyes flutter, and this time Nick surges forward to kiss her hungrily, licking into Harry’s mouth as she tugs lightly at her hair again. Harry moves her hand to sneak up below Nick’s jumper and Nick shivers in anticipation, moving to press sucking kisses along Harry’s jaw. Harry’s fingers skim over her ribs and, as her hand reaches to cup at Nick’s breast, even in the midst of the haze of pleasure, Nick knows she’s caught out.

“Nick,” Harry murmurs into her neck, “no bra?”

“You’re one to talk,” she retorts weakly, moving a hand slowly down from Harry’s neck.

Harry gasps as Nick’s hand covers her breast, thumb moving over her nipple. “You…” she pants, “you were never going to go running, were you?”

“Caught me,” Nick answers, “now what are you going to do with me?”

*

God, Harry loves kissing.

It’s her favorite thing, really. A soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, asking permission. Gentle lips brushing against hers. Parted lips meeting her own. Giving in to the heat of desire, exploring each other’s mouths. Pressed up against someone, feeling the warmth of their body. 

Kissing is fun, easy.  

But now that someone is  _ Nick. _ Nick, who she’s wanted to kiss for years, who she’d almost given up hope of ever kissing. Nick, the only person she wants to kiss for the rest of her life.

Nick, who has her spread out on her bed, skinnies kicked off somewhere in the hall in their haste. Harry clings to her as they kiss furiously, hardly able to believe this is real and not just another fantasy, that she won’t wake up cold and alone. She’s slept in this bed more times than she can count, imagined doing just this in this very place, and now she’s here and it’s finally happening.  

Nick starts to pull away and Harry lifts her head to chase Nick’s lips, moving her legs to wrap around Nick’s waist, desperate to keep her as close as she can.    

“’S okay, love,” Nick says softly, petting her hair. “I’m not going anywhere, just wanted to look at you.”

Abashed, Harry rests her head back on the pillow and looks up at Nick from under her eyelashes. God, she just wants Nick  _ so much. _

Nick smiles down at her like she’s something precious, sweeping her eyes over Harry’s face and scratching lightly at Harry’s scalp. Practically purring, Harry leans into the touch.

“I’ve got you, kitten,” Nick whispers, leaning down to kiss Harry’s nose, her cheek, her eyebrow. She runs her other hand up and down Harry’s side, making her shiver. 

Continuing her trail of kisses across Harry’s flushed cheek, Nick reaches her ear and presses a couple of kisses to the lobe before running the tip of her tongue along the shell, dipping into her ear. Harry tenses slightly, wondering how much Nick likes that and what, if anything, she should say, but Nick immediately moves to kiss just below her ear.

“Sorry, love,” Nick soothes her, “I’ve always wanted to do that, love your small ears.”

“Just...” Harry sighs as she feels Nick’s tongue on her neck, “just a bit weird, innit?”

“I don’t know, quite like it myself.”

As Harry files that away for later, Nick licks a stripe down Harry’s throat and then kisses back up. Harry loosens her grip on Nick just enough so she can move a bit more freely in Harry’s arms. Nick’s lips form a smile pressed into her neck and she starts humming a familiar tune.

“When I’m with you, all I get are wild thoughts,” Nick sings against Harry’s skin, softly and just slightly off-key. “Wild, wild, wild…”

Harry’s sure she’s flushed a bright pink, turning her head to smile into the pillow.

“Hope you know I’m for the taking…” Nick pauses to kiss her earlobe again (and oh, Harry does like that) before moving back to her neck, barely lifting her lips off of Harry’s skin to continue her singing, “Hope you know this cookie’s baking…”

Harry honks her signature loud, unfortunate laugh and claps a hand to cover her face, her cheeks going from warm to hot.

“Harry used to be a baker,” Nick sings a bit louder, to the tune but exaggeratedly out of key now, before breaking into a laugh and pulling Harry’s hand off of her face. Harry can’t help it, she’s so embarrassed, but Nick looks so fond of her and so proud of herself.

“I hate you so much,” Harry says, fighting not to giggle.

“No, you don’t, you love me,” Nick says automatically, as she’s done a thousand times before.

But this time is different, their usually casual words weighted with meaning. Harry’s heart pounds in her chest as she scans Nick’s face for any sign of panic or fear but finds none. Nick looks so sure.

“I do, you know,” Harry manages to say calmly at last. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Nick replies immediately. “I love you so fucking much, Harry.”

She barely has the words out before she’s leaning down to kiss Harry again. Harry melts into the mattress, ceding all control to Nick willingly, happy to let Nick take charge. Nick cups the back of Harry’s head, tilting it for a better angle, thrusting her tongue deeply into Harry’s mouth.

Harry barely has time to massage Nick’s tongue with her own before Nick moves to kiss down her throat again, sucking and laving, and Harry will be surprised if she’s not covered in lovebites afterward. She tilts her chin up to give Nick more access, eager to be marked, claimed. She’s waited years to be Nick’s.

When Nick reaches the tips of Harry’s swallow tattoos peeking out of her t-shirt, she slows down and gently traces them on Harry’s skin with her tongue. She lifts her head to meet Harry’s eyes and says lowly, “Think it’s time for this,” tugging lightly at Harry’s shirt, “to come off, love.”

And fuck if that’s not the hottest thing anyone has ever said in the history of time. Harry scrambles to sit up, almost pushing Nick clear off of her in the process, but luckily Nick is more coordinated than she is. They fall into laughter as Nick manages to right them, and with anyone else Harry would have felt so  _ stupid, _ but even when Nick laughs at her, she never really laughs  _ at _ her.

Sitting back on her haunches, Nick makes quick work of removing Harry’s t-shirt and Harry falls back to the bed. She flicks her tongue out to wet her lips as she watches Nick pull her own tank top off over her head. She’s bloody perfect, Harry knew she would be. Nick is long and lean and lovely, and Harry will never understand her not properly seeing that. She lifts her hands to run up Nick’s (long) torso and cup at her breasts, bigger than Harry’s but not by much, the pale skin capped with rosebud pink nipples.

Christ, Harry’s so wet, her whole body thrumming. She’s never been this turned on from snogging before, but this is  _ Nick. _ And this going from laughing to ravaging each other and back again within the span of a few minutes, Harry’s never had this before and she already knows she won’t be able to go without it ever again.

And they’ve barely even  _ started. _

Grinning wickedly, Nick moves to hover over Harry, kissing her and tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth before kissing down Harry’s throat and nipping at a bruise she left behind before. Harry moans outright, startling herself at how fucking sexy that felt, how fucking sexy she feels as Nick runs her tongue all over the swallow tattoos. 

Harry’s hands fall to her sides as she watches Nick move down her body to wrap her lips around Harry’s nipple. Harry arches her back, grasping at the sheets; she’s always been so easy for having her nipples played with, the two main ones, anyway. She lifts a hand to cup the back of Nick’s head as Nick starts to tease her other nipple with her hand. The sensations rip through Harry’s body and she swears she could almost come from this, bucking her hips in search for friction.

Nick doesn’t seem in any hurry to move things in that direction; she roams her lips, her tongue, her hands all over Harry’s chest and torso. She grips at Harry’s stubborn love handles, runs her fingers lightly over Harry’s spare nipples and not so lightly over the other two. She bites gently, sucks longingly, kisses firmly until Harry’s in a frenzy.

As she moans and gasps, Harry thinks wildly how no one has ever taken this much time with her. She’d known that Nick wanted her to go off and have her own experiences (and never, ever hear about them) and she had but, despite her shit reputation and love of flirting, she hasn’t got this far with that many people, really. And Harry’s always liked to give, to please – maybe she just never let anyone take their time with her like this? She just… fuck, she didn’t know it could be like this, that someone could make her feel like this. 

Nick braces herself with one forearm on the bed and kisses Harry again, stealing her breath and interrupting her thoughts. She runs her hand down Harry’s torso and into her knickers, teasing lightly at her lips. Harry’s hands fly up to grip at Nick’s shoulders and she can’t even think anymore, she just  _ wants. _

“Want you so much, lovely,” Nick murmurs into her ear and, oh, Harry hadn’t noticed she’d stopped kissing her, when did that happen? “Can I take these off?”

Harry nods, a touch too late to be considered in reply, but she’s losing her mind, Christ. Nick chuckles like she understands and moves back on the bed. Harry lifts her hips when Nick taps them and Nick slides the plain black briefs down Harry’s legs, seemingly not bothered that they’re not sexier or more complicated. Harry sighs, relieved; after all, it’s not exactly like she’d planned this.

Running her hands up and down Harry’s legs, Nicks hums and Harry blinks up at her slowly, content to be the focus of her undivided attention.

“These legs are sinful, Harold,” Nick tuts. “Should be a crime to cover them up the way you do.”

And Harry can’t help it, that takes her slightly out of the moment. She closes her eyes for a second, and then meets Nick’s questioning gaze.

“When, um,” she starts, trying to find the words in her sex-addled brain. “Remember those mini skirts they used to make me wear all the time? Think they were always hoping I’d flash someone, get a Britney moment for promo.”

“Oh, love,” Nick sighs, and Harry marvels at how much understanding and compassion she can fit into just two words. Nick always got her, has always known her, so much better than everyone else. 

Harry raises her arms, holding them out for a hug, and Nick immediately complies. She kisses Harry’s hair and murmurs, “I love you, I love you so fucking much,” on a loop until Harry turns her head to swallow Nick’s words with a kiss. She smoothes her hand down Nick’s back as they kiss, grateful for her stupidly long arms when she reaches Nick’s bum and gives it a smack.

“Harold,” Nick exclaims. “Please, I am a  _ lady.” _

Harry grins crookedly at her. “A lady who’s about to fuck me, I hope?”

“You’d better fucking believe it,” Nick mutters, shifting to lie on her side next to Harry and trailing her hand down the length of Harry’s body.

She kisses Harry filthily as she dips a finger into Harry’s opening and spreads her wetness around, her fingertip landing on Harry’s clit. Harry tries to keep kissing Nick but can only manage to slide her tongue against hers, barely moving her lips, too caught up in the heat rapidly spreading through her.

She has her eyes closed but she can practically see the smug smile on Nick’s face as she stops kissing her. Harry blindly reaches a hand to grip Nick somewhere, her neck or shoulder, the other already grasping at the sheet, when she feels Nick take her nipple into her mouth and start sucking. She gasps, arching her back again, and she feels Nick’s fingers follow the movement of her body, not missing a beat. 

She just barely feels Nick’s teeth graze her nipple and Harry is fully writhing on the bed, the sensation heightening the feeling of Nick’s fingers on her clit. Harry moans as the pleasure spikes and she comes, furrowing her brow in confusion when Nick starts to apply more pressure as she comes down, what is she–

And just then Harry cries out, suddenly out of her mind with pleasure, waves of it crashing over her, not letting up, and she understands. Just as her cries build to a scream, Nick slips two fingers into her mouth and she sucks on them immediately, whimpering loudly around them and kicking her legs out. Her whole body is taut as she rides it out. Nick bites at her nipple again and, jolted, Harry bites down on Nick’s knuckles, the two of them moaning in tandem. 

The waves slow and start to recede after a couple of endless, ecstatic minutes and Nick slows her fingers, kissing lightly at her chest, easing her down. Harry whines at the loss when Nick takes her fingers from Harry’s mouth, curling her arm above Harry on the pillow. She closes her eyes for a moment, overwhelmed. As her heart jackrabbits in her chest, Harry tries to even her breathing. She’s always known it would be different with Nick, but that... 

She had no idea it could be like _ that. _

Still panting slightly, as if she’d gone for a run, she opens her eyes. She needs to see Nick, needs some reassurance this wasn’t an elaborate fantasy. She’s rewarded with the sight of Nick lifting her fingers from Harry’s pussy to her mouth. 

Fuck, this is all definitely real.

Harry watches with wide eyes as Nick teases her, licking then sucking the length of her two wet fingers clean. 

“Fuck, you came so hard,” Nick says finally, “you’re so fucking wet.”

“Is that…” Harry hesitates. “Is that okay?”

“’S fucking hot, love,” Nick assures her. “You have no idea.” 

She leans down to kiss Harry again, the faintest taste of her on her tongue, and Harry blushes. It’s so  _ dirty, _ but God it’s so hot. Nick must like it too by the way she’s licking into Harry’s mouth. 

Harry’s body is completely relaxed, her legs open and arms akimbo. She lies bonelessly on the bed, reaching up weakly to paw at Nick’s hair as Nick reaches down to get herself off. 

“Can… should I…” Harry tries, but Nick is already gasping against her neck, coming after only a few moments. She lays her head on Harry’s shoulder, breathing heavily, and Harry caresses Nick’s back.

After a minute or two, Nick lifts her head to smile down at Harry. “Hiya.”

“’M sorry,” Harry mumbles. “I should’ve, dunno–”

“No, love,” Nick interrupts. “Don’t you dare apologize, I was so fucking close after getting you off, you have no idea, wouldn’t have been able to wait for you anyway.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks shyly. It was one thing to feel in the heat of the moment that Nick was getting off on Harry’s pleasure, but it was another to hear it.

“Course, love,” Nick says. “Besides, we’re just getting started. There’s so much I want to do with you.”

Harry takes a deep breath, looking up from under her lashes as she admits, “I want everything with you.”

“Me too, love,” Nick says easily, “everything.”

“No, like…” Harry struggles to find the words, wanting to make sure Nick knows she doesn’t just mean sex, even though she definitely means sex, but–

“Everything,” Nick declares, looking into Harry’s eyes. “I want everything with you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know in the comments if you liked:)
> 
> And there’s [ tumblr post](https://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/post/172038804042/this-cookies-baking-by-disgruntledkittenface) to share if you’re so inclined <3


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